Cold Caller Hot Bottom

In this erotic spanking short story, a door to door seller gets more than she bargained for after disregarding a homeowner's No Cold Callers sign. But, the situation may turn out to be rather more complex than it first appears.

Cold Caller Hot Bottom

There were several signs along Victoria Avenue which Laura felt she could easily manage without. Mind the Step, Please Close the Gate, No Junk Mail. Basically they were all just common sense, although a nearby electricity distribution box bore a Keep Out - Danger of Death sign, and she grudgingly admitted that one might be justified.

At number 42 the commandment No Cold Callers momentarily caught her gaze, but she dismissed it with breezy indifference and pressed her finger to the doorbell. It was a decision she would soon look back on with a rather different outlook, her hot and stinging bottom a salutary reminder to take proper notice of such notices. But of course, she did not know that yet.

Inside, Patrick had just finished breakfast and was sipping his second cup of coffee. A predawn flight home from client visit had prompted a well deserved day off and he had every intention of relaxing in the garden, enjoying what looked set to be an unseasonable warm spring day.

Consequently, the sound of the doorbell was not an interruption that he welcomed.

"Good morning Sir," Laura began enthusiastically. "You have a beautiful home, immaculately maintained, and I thought some of our products might be of interest to you."

It was a variation on one of half a dozen opening lines and in this case the well rehearsed compliment appeared to be sufficient to turn the homeowner's initially rather stern expression to one of milder exasperation.

At the very least she had certainly caught his attention. With a touch of pride she felt his admiring gaze quickly take in her profile, perfectly traced by a clingy summer dress with a knee length hem and a light floral design. Cinching snugly around her slender waist, it revealed the shapely curve of her hips and bottom, and the swell of her modest, but proudly perky breasts. Chestnut brown hair tumbled around her shoulders and framed the low cut V collar that revealed just a hint of cleavage.

"I represent SparkleCare and we carry only the highest quality home-care products." She lifted a black clipboard from her samples box revealing a selection of dusters, sprays, bottles, and other miscellaneous items. "With such a beautiful home perhaps you'd like to take a look at our catalogue?"

There was a long pause while he appeared to consider this, looking over the samples, and it gave Laura a moment to examine this tall, quiet man, framed in the doorway that opened into a wide and brightly lit hallway.

Barefoot beneath slim fitting linen trousers, he looked relaxed and casual, a pale blue polo shirt hugging his athletic frame. Laura noticed a subtle, musky aroma and wondered if he had just showered - then quickly put that distractingly erotic daydream out of her mind.

"I don't get many of these visits," he began, and meeting Laura's eye, he said rather pointedly, "most people seem to take note of my 'no cold callers' sign."

Unconsciously Laura felt herself glance back at the sign. "Yes, that's the one," he admonished. Despite her 30 years, she was beginning to feel rather like a chided schoolgirl, nervously awaiting her fate under the gaze of a stern headmaster.

"Well, I just thought..." but her words trailed off and, looking shyly back to Patrick's face, she suddenly took hope, deciding that he was probably just teasing her.

"Yes - you have every right to look guilty young lady," he continued, although his tone had become more jovial. "Fortunately you've caught me with some free time, and as it happens I would like to take a look. I must say that one of your sample items especially caught my eye, so please do come in."

He gestured down the hallway towards the kitchen-diner, it's broad French windows propped open to reveal a stone patio that stepped down towards the luscious green of a neat lawn. The rustling of leaves, sounds of birdsong, and the drone of distant traffic gave the room a lovely suburban ambience.

Beyond the dining table a chaise-lounge was positioned very close to the open French window and as they sat, Laura felt the cooling breeze stir the delicate fabric of her dress. With pen and clipboard in hand, she was about to speak when Patrick plucked a single item from the samples box.

"Now that's a very fine choice in a gentleman's clothes brush," Laura complemented him. "Boar's hair bristles that won't damage your suits and it will really help to cut down on your dry-cleaning bills." Noticing that Patrick seemed to be inspecting the back of the brush and its long, smooth handle she continued, "And of course it's made with only the finest materials. That's natural cherrywood, and the polished finish really shows off the grain."

Feeling confident that she was on the verge of a sale she concluded, "What you see there is our extra-large model, and with the additional length and breadth I think you'll find a few strokes will be all you need to keep your clothes looking great. Can I take it you're interested?"

Patrick smoothed his fingers over the flat, high-gloss surface and smiled. "I do believe it's exactly what I'm looking for, but perhaps you'd permit me to give it a brisk trial run?"

"Of course," she replied, "and I noticed your suit jacket on the hall stand, so allow me to..." but as she stood, Patrick caught her by the arm and in one smooth motion he swept her across his lap where she found herself sprawled in a most unladylike fashion.

"Well really - I must protest!" In her initial brief struggles she felt his right leg quickly hook around her ankles, pinning her legs down. "For starters, you shouldn't use a clothes brush on cotton delicates, and secondly, I don't know who the hell you think you are, but you certainly can't go pushing me around like this!"

Flinging back her head, Laura caught a glimpse of the brush hovering close to her upturned bottom, bristle side facing upwards. "You're not even using it right," she declared crossly. "You've got it upside down. Don't you know anything?"

As he gently laid the oversized wooden brush against the fabric that tightly wrapped the firmly rounded orbs of her bottom cheeks, the magnitude of her predicament finally dawned on her. The skimpy Brazilian briefs that boasted no visible pantie line were suddenly failing to deliver on that promise beneath the tightly stretched sundress and Patrick found himself treated to the embossed impression of fancy lace trim, scooping out a saucy line high across each buttock. Hastily Laura made a grab for the brush, but to her dismay she felt her slender wrist caught easily and pinned against her back.

"Now," Patrick began, "this will not take long, but I can assure you that you'll think twice before ignoring simple signage instructions in future." Raising his right arm, the polished back of the clothes brush landed squarely with a sharp "whap!" against her bottom.

With a gasp of surprise at the sharpness of the sting that rippled decisively through her bottom, there began a flurry of spanks that quickly dotted around her cheeks, flooding her backside with heat and a persistent, buzzing throb. Howls of protest gradually subsided into a grudging acceptance of the spanking that she knew her presumptuousness had so richly deserved.

When Patrick finally relented and guided her to her feet, a deep prickly sting pulsated through her backside and the softly cooling breeze from the patio offered little in the way of comfort. She clasped both hands to her tender behind and massaged vigorously, desperate to ease the stinging. Even through the cotton dress Laura could feel her heated skin against her fingertips.

Casually, as if nothing unusual had taken place, Patrick quietly laid the brush on the dining table and picked up his wallet from the kitchen. "You know - I think this is absolutely perfect for my requirements, and I'm sure you'll agree that it's most efficacious. Here, and keep the change," he added, tucking the approximate cash value of the brush under the transparent sleeve inside the cover of her clipboard. "Let me help you with that box and I'll show you to the door."

Laura was still clutching her bottom, red faced, and apparently left utterly speechless by the events that had just transpired.

"Thank you," he said, "and do feel free to call again if you're in the area." Ushering her out of the house, Patrick closed the door with a firm click.

Shortly after 4pm his wife arrived home from a combined shopping and lunch trip, having spent a few hours catching up with some old friends.

"Did you have a good day?" he asked.

"Well, it got off to an interesting start. Quite normal after that, but we did have a very nice lunch."

"That's good," he replied, with the first hint of a knowing smile. "I'll go and pop the kettle on."

In the hallway his wife slipped off her jacket revealing a light cotton sundress with a delicate floral design. Her chestnut brown hair tumbled around her shoulders and framed the low cut V shaped collar that revealed just a hint of her cleavage. She smoothed the dress either side of her slender waist and past the rounded curves of her hips and bottom, towards where the hem fell close to her knees.

Smiling a delightfully mischievous smile at the memory of their morning role play, she followed her husband into the kitchen...

Summary

In this disciplinary spanking fantasy, Patrick uses a wooden clothes brush. It's a classic scene of domestic discipline, but whilst we love a nice looking hairbrush or clothes brush, we typically lean towards a lighter toy, such as the Singapore Stinger 3, which might be far lighter, but can still deliver a memorable sting. If that's not to your taste, have a look through this listing of alternative spanking paddles.

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